A Court Of Mist And Fury - a unwanted return
by RememberGil
Summary: *spoiler alert* What if Feyre was taken by Lucien? What would High Lord Rhysand do to get his mate back? How far would he go? Read to find out. Complete
1. captured

**A Court Of Mist And Fury – some major spoilers on this one. Don't read it unless you have read the book already and having a massive bookhangover like me, I would just like to imagine what would have happend if Feyre was taken from Rhys by Lucien. And I wanted to share it with you guys, forgive my grammer mistakes English isn't my first tongue.**

It was no suprise at all, not really, not with Tamlin. Here stood Feyre, deep within the forest steppes of the Night Court. A few hunderd kilometers away from the camp where Az, Rhys and Cassian had grown up. When a damming voice whisperd a single word, her name. "Feyre."

She whirled, arrow nocked and aimed at the source of the voice – four Spring Court sentinels stalked from behind the trees behind me like the Water Wraith she had met on the horrible day of the Tithe. A predater, smooth and lethal, but unlike her they were armed to the teeth.

And between them there was Lucien.

His red hair was tied back, he wore no finery whatsoever. Just knives, swords and armored leather. "We have been hunting for you for over two months," he breathed, scanning the sky, the woods, the stream. His metal eye going wild while searching our surroundings. _Hunting for me._ Not searching or looking. Like I was prey and nothing else, like I am the High Lord's pet.

"How did you find me?" my voice so cold that it had past recognition and belonged to a diffrent woman.

"someone tipped us off you'd been out here, but it was luck that we caught your scent on the wind, and – " Lucien took a step towards me. I stepped one back. Lucien's eye slightly widened. "We need to get out of here. Tamlin's been – he hasn't been himslef. I'll take you right to –"

"No." I breathed, soft but vicious. As bending as steel.

The sentinels glanced between themselfs, then to the arrow I kept aimed. "Feyre," Lucien said, holding out a hand. "Let's go home." I didn't move a centimeter. "That stopped being my home the day you let him lock me up inside of it."

Lucien's mouth tightened. "It was a mistake. We _all_ make mistakes. He's sorry – more than you realize. So am I." he stepped toward me again, and I also took a step back. And raised my bow, aimed for his throat.

Cassian's training crashed into me, as if all the training was a safety net. Once Lucien touched me he would winnow us out. Not far, he wasn't that strong, but he was fast and regains his power quickly so he could winnow again, again and again until Rhys had no chance of finding me again. He knew, he _knew_ that Rhys was close.

"Feyre." He pleaded, daring another step his hand outraised. I backed up as far as I could, until I was on the edge of the stream before it plunged downwards, rolling off a cliff so steep she couldn't risk it. "Put the arrow down." He said it like he was soothing a wild animal. The sentinels closed in. Herding me. _The High Lord's pet and possession indeed._ "Don't." I breathed, grinding my teeth, trying to leash the uprising panic and rage. "Touch. Me."

"You don't understand the mess we're in, Feyre. We – _I_ need you home. Now." I didn't want to hear it. Peering at the streak below, I calculated my odds. The look cost me. Luncien lunged for me, hand out. One touch, that is all it would take. One. Simple. Touch. He was fast, too fast. Lucien finger grazed the sleeve of my leather jacket. I reached within myself, into the power of the High Lord's. Into _my_ power. A spark of brute strength sprang to life in my chest, I whilled it into a blade pointing outwards, pointing to _him._ Waiting to be unleashed, waiting for bloodshed. But before I could stab their hearts Lucien winnowed us out.

I kicked, struggeld and screamed at Lucien as we went. Doing everything in my power to make him drop me, losing my bow and arrows in the proces. He had grapped me the second we started winnowing, he had hold me beneath my armpits and was crushing me into his chest now.

 _Don't_ said a voice filled with rage, bloodlust, desperation and worry, for me. Rhys voice, guiding me. I was almost sobbing with relieve. _If he drops you, you will be stuck in this fold of the world. No one could save you, even the Cauldron itself would be powerless._

 _What can we do?_

 _While he winnows nothing, but as soon he stops Feyre, fight. Give us some time to find you. Everybody has been alerted and looking for you._

 _OK, OK,_ I took the steadiest breath I could force from my lungs. _Rhys… I'm scared._

A pause of awe and sadness on his end. _I'm too. I'm sacred too, Feyre._ But not for himself, but for me.

He was worried sick.

Winnowing never lasted long, but it sure as Hell felt like it now. The seconds were stretched thin, feeling like forever. Then with a pale faced Lucien and the four sentinels, she slammed into fresh ground. Lucien shielded her most of it, but she still got a mean slap on her cheekbone from a stone. Before they had stopped rolling, she kicked her way out of Lucien's firm grip on her and was instantly on her feet, so fast that she was seeing stars. She let the smallest of cracks break through her mental shields, a crack just for Rhys. To let his eyes see what mine were seeing. She didn't hear a word from him but she _felt_ him, he was so desperate that he didn't even lecture her about being so certain that he would show up, not someone else. And what he was seeing was rather plain, a wide meadow that stretched to the horizon and back, Lucien frightingly pale. And the four sentinels standing gaurd, not only to outward threats but also gaurding themself from her. Gaurding Lucien.

"Where are we?" she said with quiet fury. Lucien rose slowly to his feet, a small groan escaping his lips. His eye glazed with pure exhaustion.

" _Where. Are. We?"_ she said louder, her rage escaping it's leash.

Lucien put his hands up in a sign of peace. Just for that she wanted to spit in his remaining eye. He had taken me against my wish. She had even sent a letter, a letter that told him and Tamlin that she has left on her free will. She _had told_ them that she didn't want to come back. And yet he, he and tamlin, had chosen to ignore it. Just like Tamlin had chosen to reject almost all of her reguests, her ideas what was good for _her._ She wanted to destroy him for it.

"Feyre, please. We're _not_ your enemies." He's panting but managed too make his voice sound calm, already regaining some of color on his sweaty face. _Don't make me laugh_ , was all that she could think before she gave into her rage. Rage that was filled with stars and darkness and ash. A rage that was caused by her being taken from her home.

Darkness was pooling around her. Coming off her like waves with the steady beat of a enraged heart.

 _Don't show too much off your power._ Rhys whisperd into her, her body reacting like it was a warm bath after a long day off training. _If you're not able to find you it will be you're greatest edge on them._

She wanted to rip these men apart like the they were made of paper. Make their deaths so gruesome that it would make the most hardend warriors puke their guts up and take a good damn time to do it. But she knew she couldn't, she had already lost the element of suprise, the only edge that she had now was that Lucien was exhausted but already looking strong enough to winnow them a few kilometers further. It was now or never, so she launched.

The four sentinels reached for their swords, out of pure reflex, but hesitated, remembering the orders Tamlin no doubt had given them. It was a window, the smallest most impossible window in the histroy of human and Fearie's but she took it. Lucien was fast but not fast enough this time. Not with her High Fea speed and power He dodged her first fist, sidestept the second, but the third hit him straight on his jaw, his bone crunching beneath her pained knuckles. He fell back, falling so slow as time was starting to act different. She didn't think of it twice, she couldn't think at all with the roar inside her head, couldn't see anything else then the red blurring her vision. So before he was fully on the ground she was on his chest, with his knives inside her clenched fists. He was the main engine of this group, if he couldn't winnow, no one could. By crippeling him, she would buy her family time, time to find her and take her back home. To Velaris, the City of Starlight.

She didn't feel any regret, remorse or even pity for his pain when she pushed those blades into his abdomon. Lucien's roar filled the meadow, the sky, her very bones. She left one in him, twisting to worsen his agony, the one in her other hand tasted the air as she raised it to blindly push it back in. Where she didn't care.

Multiple hands grapped her. She was strashing against them, lashing out with her dark magic. Their own magic used as shields, already breaking beneath her red-hot fury.

She felt a piece of cold metal, just a bit bigger than a hair, being pushed beneath her skin of her neck. She cursed with every foul word she knew, the sentinels and Lucien barely able to contain her, her magic. Then she felt a cold liquid filling the vein where her lifeblood coursed through her.

 _No…_ Rhys whisperd. Her body feeling more terror at his breathless horror, than being sticked with a piece off metal and having a strange liquid forced in her body.

Then she didn't know what waking and sleeping meant.

xXx

 _How is she?_

 _Tamlin – she has… she has changed. Whatever that bastard has been doing her._ Lucien hissed through his teeth. _His claws are deep within her, Tamlin. She was prepared to kill me and Bron and Hart. He has manipulated her to the point where she believes that we're the Night Court. That we're the killers._ A loaded silence fell.

A growl was losend that shook the entire manor, the entire grounds and no doubt beyond.

 _What have you seen? Is she – is she hurt?_ They both knew that Tamlin didn't mean physical or mental abuse.

Again silence. _Has. He. Hurt. Her._ The words were dripping with the promise of voilence. To whoever would be upholding information on this matter. A swallow was so loud that it could be heard through the glass doors.

 _She reeks of him, I don't scent anything_ but _that._ Feyre wonderd how this Tamlin guy must have looked like, only to see what had triggerd the following reaction.

 _Tamlin, easy. Tamlin!_ Tamlin! _Listen to me._ Their was a growl that made the previeus look like a drop of power. She heard silenced hurried footstepts, she heard the birds flee in terror and the world went too quiet for her liking. _We_ are _going to make that prick pay, alright? He is going to feel every bit of her despair and fear twice over, but now, now she needs us. Even when she won't realize it. Right now, we –_ you _need to focus on her._

xXx

Feyre was gently woken by a hand shaking her shoulder softly. She grumbeld something unaudible and turned on the bed of…? Grass? Did I fall asleep while training? Did Rhys really let me sleep in the snow?

"Feyre." Someone said a breathy confession and a devastating sin. A part of her wanted to look who was shaking her, but a slumbering weight was pushing on her. Her head felt too light and heavy at once, and she felt a tiredness in her very bones.

"Feyre." The same person said. Her gut told her that he ( or was it a she? ) was familiar with her and she didn't want to see him/her. There was only one person who she would feel like that with him around. "O, fuck off Rhys. I know I need to train but why are you waking me before sunrise?" She tucked her head with her ams, cutting the swearwords off who were forming on her lips. The hand on her shoulder stiffeld. Why?

Then it all came back to her. Rhys, Lucien. Tamlin. _Rhys,_ o dear Cauldron.

She shot upright so fast her head bumped with Lucien's. She was running away before her High Fea had adjusted to the darkness of where ever he had winnowed her too. She made in total three steps before she was catched by a web of hands.

She was forced to turn back to Lucien. Only to find Lucien's red-haired to be replaced by golden hair and green vibrant eyes. The eyes of spring. The eyes of the High Lord of the Spring Court. She was back within the Spring Court. Back within her prison.

And those green spring eyes were filled with relieve, love, but also genuine hurt and disguist. Hurt because her first reaction was to run from him. Disguist from – from the smell that wasn't there before she had left the Night Court.

Her home.

And it was the smell of Rhysand, rubbed so clearly and loud that it didn't sugest anything other that she and Rhys have never left the other one's side. Or that they have been together in a _very_ intimate way.

Tamlin took warily a step forward. Feyre didn't bother by stepping back, she was sick from running this man. This man who had hurt her in so many ways. So she stood her ground, she straightend her spine, chin up, she stopped struggeling against the hands who where still on her arms and shoulders. And stared that man, that _monster_ down.

"Feyre, do you – do you remember me?" his eyes full of worry, so full of relieve of having her back. To have his personal pet back, his possesion.

There weren't words that expressed the amount of hate she felt burning in her chest. Hate towards every aspect of this man. So she didn't speak, because body to body was the only way they were able to communicate.

She spit in his face.

Honest and genuine pain lingerd in his eyes, so clearly writen that she spit on him again.

And walked away. Walked away and walked towards her prison. Every step followed by his eyes burning at her back.

 _I_ will _get you out of there Feyre._ Rhys voice swore, nothing less then pure detemination. She knew he would. He would do everything in his power to get her back. With no compromise.

 _I know you will Rhys. But you won't start a war over me, we will figure this out. We will find a way out, without endangering your lands._ My voice just sounded like his. No compromise. Detemined. Not bending, not in this question.

 _Ofcourse we will, Feyre darling._ Rhys purred, a lion awaiting the challenge ahead.

 **Notes: what did you guys think? I needed a hour to properly read the scene in the book. I couldn't stop fangirling! What where you're favorite parts in ACOMAF? let me know what you guys think of my fanfiction.**


	2. battleplan

**Thanks for all the support and revieuws I'm getting from you. I really love it when people take the time to bother with my work, and it puts a smile on my face everytime. Anyway read, enjoy and thank you!**

The manor seemed so small, so empty and quiet. She could remember why human Feyre loved this place. The air comfortable warm, scented by roses and sunlight. She could remember why she loved this place, but there were the doors where she was locked inside of, and there was the window where she had opened in hope to break free.

A lovely spacious prison, but a prison however you looked at it.

She marched inside, her footsteps followed by two sentinels. Every servant, every stableboy, everyone she passed on the short trip to her once calm resort, gawked openly at her. Some weeping of joy others of pity, all looking at her tattoo. She had rolled up her sleeve the second she had turned her back on the High Lord of Spring. She wouldn't hide. She would stand and spit insult and ravage until she would find a window. A window to escape this prison once more.

She climbed the stairs and took the third door on her left. The door to the bedroom she has slept in for nearly a year. To the room with the bed she has shared with Tamlin. She looked at the bed, the room. All her possession's where on the exact same spot as she has left them, the bed neatly tucked in, the book she has last started in still lay on her nightstand.

She walked out seconds later.

The sentinels didn't say anything of it, but she felt their eyes crawling at her back. She could almost hear Cassian screaming at her; _NEVER PUT YOU BACK TOWARDS YOUR ENEMY!_ She snorted, the sentinels presumed it as a agressive gesture and stiffend, looking so alert that they would jump the shadows themselfs. She wanted to growl at them and show them what her aggression looked like, but remembered Rhys words of advise. _Don't show them too much of your power. It will be your greatest edge on them._

Ofcourse, knowlegde could be as lethal as any steel. So she would pretend, even if it went damming her own happiness. Just like Rhys has had a vision of a court and had gotten to the mat to defend it, giving up on his friends, his home and himself. So she would too, she would be who they suspected her too be. Let them think she had lost her heart, her soul, her consciousness. If they wanted the High Lord's whore, let them have one. She laughed softly at the sentinels stiff backs, a laugh of nighttime companionship.

"If you men remain so stressed, I would feel obliged to invite you to my bed." She stopped before another guestquarters, she knew that the room itself would be less lavish than her other room but the bed would be just as big. She turned towards the sentinels, and almost laughed for real because of their serene faces, while trying so hard to hold that expression. "I doubt the two of you will be any good in bed but I'm bored…" She smilled one more time that bedroom smile and stripped to her undergarments and then, only _then_ entered the bedroom. With her High Fea senses she heard their speeded heartbeat and the scent of their arousel. She wanted to puke.

Instead, she lay her body on the bed and wished with her entire heart that she would wake up somewhere far, _far,_ from here.

xXx

The Cauldron must have taken pity on her and therefore must have blessed her with such a lovely dream.

 _She lay on her back, watching the open cloudless nightsky of the Nigh Court. It was so exquisid as the night of Starfall. The stars twinkeld while spirits made their annual crossing. Their was a gentle breeze and the grass of the weadow where she lay in the middle of, tickeld the left side of her body. She felt him sooner then she saw him, but she didn't stir. Not wanting to as much miss a breath of the sky._

 _Rhys rested his body next to hers, barely leaving space in between. He put his hands beneath his head and looked at complete ease. She couldn't stop her treacherous eyes from wondering on his body, noticing that he wore simpel loose pants and a shirt that hugged his chest tightly and there was a small bit of his muscled stomach showing._

 _She sighed. "In the name of the Cauldron, what have I done to deserve such a dream?" Rhys shifted his look towards her face, not losing the wonder and awe in his violet eyes. Her chest felt like it was on fire. No one she knew had looked at her like that. Tamlin yes, he had looked at her like she was the most beautifull creature on this planet, but he wasn't the one she wished to looked upon like that._

 _"_ _I don't know Feyre darling, I am just as ignorent as you are." His voice sent shivers down her spine, lower. He noticited it and leaned in closer, their flanks now touching. "But I am not complaining." He nibbed on her earlobe and her breath hitched. He growled his approval and paused. Whispering in her ear. "I should tell you something Feyre and you're not going to like it." she groaned. Would she ever get a chance of peace before something messed it all up again._

 _"_ _Spil it." she ordered at the same time as she leaned in closer to him. This dream was doing something to her, it felt like the world where she lived didn't exicst and did not effect her. The brakes she always felt when she was near Rhys dissolved. Rhys feeling her shift, cradeld her on his chest and something inside of her wanted to purr at the steady heartbeat she heard. He took a deap breath before talking again._

 _"_ _This, the sky the grass and the moon you're seeing right now Feyre darling, aren't a dream." He stopped to let the words sink into her. What in the name of the Cauldron is he talking about?_

 _"_ _When you opened you're mind to me Feyre, I sent a litte piece of my mind into yours, just enough so I could see, feel, smell what you were sensing. But when – when they sticked that needle in your neck, it supressed your powers, your consciousness. It did the same to the small part of me. Now when you are asleep, the powers you posess are too, including the ones who protect you from people with my skill set. Don't worry your shield are still intact." He reassured me when he saw the look on my face._

 _"_ _But those powers stop looking_ inside _of your shield what will allow me to pop up and share your dreams. It allows me to speak to you with words and vision." Feyre didn't know what to feel. Should she be relieved? Angry? Disguisted? No, not that. Rhys would never force himself in her mind and though she would never admit it to this… dream-Rhys but she was happy to see him. only if for a short period of time. She licked her lips._

 _"_ _But how does it work? Are you still… Rhys? Or are you a part of me? Of how I picture you?"_

 _She felt him shrug underneath her. "I am still Rhysand and I always will be, but what you are looking at right now, is… like a shadow. I am a mere footprint, a drop of the complete me. And like a shadow I will follow you until I am released. But I have a… connection with my body and complete mind, now cut off by the wards surrounding this place. But if you and I wanted too, I could speak to myself. It would require you using your powers, so it is now out of the question." He planted a kiss on her temple and she felt her form become liquid._

 _"_ _Alright, if what you're saying is true doesn't that mean that you're cut off from what the complete Rhysand is thinking now?"_

 _"_ _Yes, I am."_

 _"_ _But you think like him? Have the same thoughtpatterns?"_

 _"_ _You're spot on Feyre." Feyre started stroking his chest in lazy circkels, not understanding why she did it. Rhys was starting to play with her hair too, placing kisses at random times. "Then help me to form a plan. I have no clue what to do next, other then pretend that I have become something I'm not."_

 _"_ _You have already played your part better then I had thought. Pretending to be who they think you are gives you not an edge on them, but a sharp sword. But that's not the words you're looking for now. My advise to you would be to lift the veil a bit. Show them a part of your powers, but I would stick to darkness mainly because they would have guessed that I have at least trained you in that. Show them your play with the swords and knives. Lastly have a routine that they will find absurd, too put them on oneven ground."_

 _"_ _You're suggesting that I wash myself in mud and howl at the sun?" His chest shudderd with his quiet laughter._

 _"_ _No, not that sort but you must remember some of these people agendas and routine's, you just have to do the complete opposite."_

 _"_ _Fair, enough. Can you wake me when the sun has set again?" He just leaned down again and this time planted a kiss against her lips. It felt so natural, so natural as breathing and_ that _was the reason why she didn't push him away. Or when he licked the seams of my lips and I opened to him fully._

 _We spent the entire dreamnight like that, kissing, talking, being so open, honest and comfortable with each other as two people could be._

 _Maybe she would built a temple with her bare hands for the Cauldron as thanks for this lovely non-dream._

xXx

How could he have failed her so badly?

The High Lord of the Spring Court watched and counted every breatch his love made. Her face was serene but there was a sleepy smile on her sensual lips, lips he had wished so fiercely to meet again. What was she dreaming of? How could she be smiling after she has spent over two months at the Night Court, the court of torture, killings and creulness? What has that whoring prick done to her to make her hate him so much? To look at him with hate so deep that he could have been Amarantha himself? He shutterd, only the mention of her name made his nightmares creep up with him.

They have always been the same in those fithty years, his people around him butchered. The blood coverd face of Fyton, Rhysand's father and realizing _whose_ blood it was. Only the one who always has taken the crown was when he had returned from Under The Mountain and the full force of realisation had hit. That he was a mere child now, his powers taken away and the only way to save his people, _his country_ was to send his men to be killed.

For the past two months, he had not been touched by those nightmares. No, he had nightmares so vived and real he craved his old one's. Feyre forced into schakles, beaten to a bloody pope, Rhys slowly turning that beautifull mind of art and color into a mudpuddle. Feyre being tortured until she lost her sanity. He had been chased from his dreams to the land of the living too many times, his sheets shredded to ribbons. He had shacked the manor so many times that the servants who fixed it, wore permantly pants and gloves to protect them from splinters.

Then the note came, _her note_.

He realized that Rhysand won't hurt her in that way. No, he was making her his slave. His weapon. His shield against the fury who has been building underneath his skin for so, so, long. He would use whatever - _bond_ was between them and turn her against him. Make her resent him with every ounce of her body. And he has succeeded.

The moment she threw his archenemy's so casually, he knew that that Rhysand's scent wasn't there just because he wanted to piss him off. But that he had been using her for the Cauldron knew what. His scent was so strong on her that it burned his nose, that he couldn't smell anything _but_ that.

And the hate that had been written across her face, the disgust. He had been a breath away from unleashing his power and fly to the Night Court himself to repay that prick for all the pain, suffering,

manipulation she had endured. That was the only reason he let her out of his sight. And because he had realized how _awfull_ he had been to her. He had treated her so badly that she saw the Night Court as a escape.

But no more.

He looked at her nimble body laced with muscles and power, and swore on his crown, on his blood. Never again. Even if it meant starting a war by shooting those Illyrians bastards out the sky. They wouldn't stop circulating the borders and he couldn't do anything about it. Every fearie had the right to wander the courts, but of what had happend, they couldn't step a single damn foot inside his territory. But flying just on the edge of it, tanting him, spitting on his tittle. He couldn't touch them, not without war.

But for her, for her. He would go to war.

He watched her another hour until he couldn't ignore his duties no longer. He prayed, he prayed to any god kind enough to listen that she would be alright, safe.

And that she would love him again.


	3. fighting

**Hey it's me again. I simply can't believe how many people are reading my fanfiction, it is making me so happy. I hope you guys enjoy this and keep on reading my litte gig.**

Feyre woke in the dead of night, Dream-Rhys keeping true to his word. Or – non words, whatever. She opened her eyes and for the first time in a long while, she hadn't had any nightmares. That was because Dream-Rhys was keeping them away, he had told me. He also told me that his scent, the scent of the Real- and Dream-Rhys, was so strongly on me because I had a piece of him inside me. So strong apparently that people won't scent it if I was pregnant with a Heir.

Not that I was, ofcourse.

Feyre looked outside of the window, up to the stars. Compared to the Night Court, they paled. Here they shined so weakly, the full moon not reflecting enough to make her want to howl at it. To honer it. She just layed there for a few more seconds. Drawing out the moment before she would stand up and pretend. She could be gone in a week, she could be here for a century. The thought sent shivers down her spine.

When she couldn't draw it out any longer without driving herself insane, she rose from her bed and walked to her closet. No suprise that it was filled with dresses her size. She took the green one, the one Tamlin would have liked the most and shred it to pieces.

She seperated the bodice and the skirt from each other. The bodice was heartshaped and was tight, so no modification where needed there but she ripped the part off wich coverd her belly. Secondly she ripped the skirt in two. She searched in her drawers to find a belt and retreaded victorious, she summond a needle and threat with her magic ( and a litte help from Dream-Rhys ) and sow the now sqaure piece of fabric of her skirt onto the belt. She hooked the belt low on her hips, putting the piece of fabric partly on her righthip and the rest on her behind. She put on the bodice. It just coverd her breast and made them D-cups pop up quite clearly, her undergarments from the Night Court hugged her curves and went as high as her bellybutton and with the belt she looked indeed like a woman who sells her body.

Feyre craved the simple tunics, the soft sweaters and furlined coats. But… she didn't have that option right now. She would sacrifice, she would manipulate, she would play dirty if it meant getting out of here, and this, even if she hated it. She would do it.

Dream or Complete-Rhys sent a tap of encouragement against her shield, so weak no one would be able to sense it but she was relieved to know that she wasn't alone in all this. Feyre took one final deep breath and stormed out the doors.

The sentinels were so suprised that their first steps hunting hers were clumpsy and unrefined, so suprised that they didn't notice when their armors were two knives lighter. She looked at their faces, Bron and Hart. Two of the five men who took her. Both of the men eyes glazed with disapproval at her "clothes".

She clocked her tongue. "Are you to escort me everywhere? Or may I roam on my own? I don't think that I need an escort on the short trip towards the gardens."

Silence. Fine then, she could play that card too.

She walked on her bare feet, with a small bounce in every step she took. Every corner, every door was monitered by sentinels. Their presence was pressing on her, like she was under water. How in the name of the Cauldron has she survived those three months?

She opened the doors and breathed the calming scent of the night, trying to ignore the rosescent. She turned again towards Bron and Hart saying; "Just so you know sweathearts, I ain't going slower for you two. If you can't keep up then now would be a wise time to back down." They blinked, not showing anything else then their serene faces. Feyre clocked her tongue. "Mmmh, I'm going to make you boys sweat." Without further explanation, she ran.

Bron, Hart and probably every sentinel in this place surged after her.

She made it her exercise. Avoid every male, surge past every female and put a blinding smile on her face. She ran and ran, her legs finally strong again. She ran past corners and finding a half a dozon men waiting to catch her, just for her to slide between their legs or by winnowing on top of the hegde and laughing herself hoarse when the men slammed into each other.

Then Tamlin hadn't joined them, wich suprised her. But not a complaining words was heard from her lips. She smiled brightly and felt _alive_.

When the darkness of the night was broken by the uprising sun and every male in this court was panting she slowed her now dirt-coverd feet. Sore beyond believe but protesting at her sudden stop. She let the current patch of men catch up with her, the men on their gaurd, their knees close together. A horrible defense/attack stand, but it prevented her from sliding between them.

"Where is the High Lord of this court?" she asked them, proud of her lack of panting.

Happy to oblige, in the hope of keeping her here long enough until she was surrounded, one man answered.

"High Lords Tamlin –" Pant "was needed on the –" Pant "western seaborder." Pant.

Tamlin was gone, temporarily ofcourse.

"Tell me Lord, does the phrase 'When the cat leaves, the mouses dance on the table' exist in the fearie realm?" The Lord frowned, a answer enough.

"well, let me introduce you to the meaning of it." She didn't fake this smile. The glint of her eyes.

The sentinels came from every direction. But the Lord she has spoken to. A handsome male, with young looks and kind eyes. Couldn't hide the fear in his posture.

xXx

She was been at it for a hour nearly. Running, avoiding, hiding and then popping up to scare the living shit out of the sentinels. He knew that he should be out there helping his men to catch her and bring her back within the manor. He _should_. But why didn't his feet move then?

Lucien had woken at the first crunches of gravel and annoyed grumble from the sentinels. He had shot up on his feet, he was trained as a warrior and is a light-sleeper. He was clothed and armed to the teeth, a heartbeat later, staring out of the window to find her like that.

She was smiling. A invisible light of joy and happiness seeping from her while she laughed at the men trying to catch her. And he – he just froze. Staring from that window. Her movements were smooth, feline, elegant, controled. He couldn't stop himself from admiring her form. She has been trained and trained well. But that wasn't the reason he gaped at her.

She was _laughing_. Pure, unrestrained laughter. He couldn't remember the last time he heard that laugh. Then he took the other details. She had been so thin, so unhealthy thin. The life and joy sucked out of her eyes. Purple smugded undearneath it. Her scent reeked with the desperation, the unhappiness. Now – _now._ She was happy again. Whatever had happend on within the Night Court it had pulled her from that unending dark pit. The dark pit that _he_ had been in when the woman he loved had been killed by his father.

What had happend there? What had Rhys done? Feyre had been in a very dark place and with the powers he had, Rhys could have turned her in his eternal slave, but he hadn't.

He didn't know what that information.

Or what to tell Tamlin, his High Lord and master.

He only knew that something had happend between Feyre and Rhys.

And that whatever had happend, was permanent between them.

xXx

He couldn't, _would not_ accept what had happend.

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court own blood roared at him. To protect what was his.

He had leaned behind a tree when they took her. He had heard every word, every refusal Feyre had thrown at Lucien. He found himself deciding that if she took his hand, he would find a way to life wit hit. But if that prick would have grabbed her, he would tear the world apart to get her back. To get his _mate_ back.

And he had taken her from him. And the roar that escaped his lips shook the entire Illyrian Steppes. He had spoken to Amren, Mor, Az and Cassian mind to mind explaining what had happend. He had told Az and Cassian finally the truth. That Feyre was his mate. And that she being stolen.

Mor had winnowed to Velaris to protect it, while Amren with all her ancient knowlegde searched for Feyre, Cassian and Az did the same. But he couldn't do this on his own. So he had flown to the camp he had grown up in, interupting Lord Devlon meeting with the bordering camp Lord's.

Perfect, it would save him further trips. Save time and sooner give in to the instinct that roared at him to get out there. The men fell silent. Feeling their High Lord's mood.

He said without thinking. Cold, calculating "All your scouts and best searchers will search for Feyre Cursebreaker." The Lord said nothing, too suprised. Rhysand slammed his hand on the table, talons of smoke forming. Darkness and mist pooling off him like rain from a thunderstorm. " _NOW!"_ There was no kindness within those words, pure command of the most powerfull High Lord in history.

The Lord saw the look in his eyes, the absolute power who could rip these mountains bear, slipping it's leash. The Lord's vanished, sacred out of their minds. _As they should be_.

He had taken to the sky so frustrated that he couldn't tap into his well of magic and winnow. And flew. He flew faster than he had ever in his life. He searched with his senses, with his connection with his lands and the matingbond between Feyre and him. through the last one she felt her fright and anger smoldering like the fires of Fire Night when they had met for the first time.

 _Rhys… I'm sacred._

 _What can we do?_

He would _not_ fail her. He would rip the world apart to find her. He would strike any deal and kill, manipulate, torture until she was back at his side. He would march into that manor and tear in to ribbons, kill anyone who kept her locked up in there, and then comfort her until she was ready again to face the world.

Then she was sedated. And he felt her slip away. His mind went blank.

No thoughts past in his head, no colour, no _anything_. Only bloodthurst.

His friends were talking to him, concerend about him. feeding him information, trying to distract him. even if it was a lost cause.

 _I_ will _get you out of there Feyre._ Was his oath.

And he would keep it. No matter what would happen.

 **Notes: thank you guys for the advise on how to improve my writing, it's greatly appreciated. By the way did you guys know that the audiobook of ACOMAF is on Youtube! I'already six hours in.**

 **Thanks again for the support and the love! Have a nice day** **J**


	4. escaped truth

**Here we go again guys. The fourth chapter already. I just want to thank Avid Idiot for helping with my grammar. But thanks for the reviews in general, it keeps me motivated. If you see any grammar mistakes point them out so I can fix them.**

As promised to sentinel, Feyre danced on the table right along the side of her shadowfriend. Dream-Rhys had purred inside of her mental shields, at the challenge from the mortal saying she had said against the Lord sentinel. But _O,_ she had not disappointed him. Mainly because Dream-Rhys had a form now in her waking hours.

She had reached within herself, within her mental shield and found the small bubble in her shields. A bubble of Rhys. She willed that bubble outside of herself, to form a body of smoke, ash, stars and darkness. Willed it into _Rhys_ form. She didn't picture him with his wings or talons only with the dark unruffled clothes. He was a shadow, not in her mind, not outside of it. He was just a picture. A moving picture. And that picture followed her throughout the day. Chatting away with him, as easy as they had talked inside the Night Court. Only now of bloodshed and torture.

"So hold on, you should _first_ heat the knife and _then_ poison it? How does that work?" She said it a bit louder because she and Dream-Rhys passed a another sentinel. Turning green when he understood where their conversation topic was about.

"Of course Feyre darling, when you put the poison first it will be burned away by the heat and he or she won't scream as loud – and where would be the fun of that?"

"But what will the poison do? They will already feel the pain of the heat and the stab, what will a little bit of extra poison do to worsen their agony?"

Dream-Rhys eyes shifted to her. Leaving a small track of violet smoke. She was only allowing herself to paint in that part. If she would fill in the blanks even further, she would create a full on scale Rhys and that was showing way to much of her power. A skilled child would be able to picture a fairy of darkness.

"the poison will burn inside of the wound, you see? The same way a heated poke would leave a mark, it will burn itself within the victim and will never be able to be removed." Feyre was opening her mouth to reply, but heard a familiar and hateful pair of boots.

The High Lord of the Spring Court entered her line of vision. She already felt her gut twisting of rage. Her breathing wanted to quicken. Heck, she wanted to throw every ounce of magic towards his head and enjoy the blood that would be on her hands. Instead she willed her face into a serene look but with eyes twinkling of a dark reason. O, she was becoming good at this game.

Tamlin warily took in Dream-Rhys. He knew that Dream-Rhys wasn't really Rhys. He was just a shadow created by her. Then he eyed her. Eyed the "clothes" that she was still wearing, at the resemblance of the Night Court attire he had seen and her nightly clothes from Under The Mountain. Then said carefully like _she_ was the animal that was about to devour him. She liked that idea very much. "Feyre, would you – would you like to eat lunch with me, Lucien and Ianthe."

Wow, he asked my opinion. But she saw the gain she might win from this lunch. He would defiantly see it as progress with her. She could feel him and Lucien out, but… Ianthe. She wasn't sure she would be able to control and maintain her façade. On the other hand she would might be able to slit her throat whit her so close.

" _fine."_ Compared with her tone a sea of glass would seem more welcoming. But she saw Tamlin's body sag – just for the smallest part – and his eyes full with relieve. Enough that she turned to Dream-Rhys and said; "I will see you in the paint room again, alright?" she swiped at the fathom heart of Dream-Rhys, scattering his shadow. But he said before he vanished completely; "If you are going to paint me Feyre Darling, nude would be best."

She chuckled. Tamlin looked like he has been hit in the gut.

xXx

The lunch went as well as you would think.

She sat on the chair which she had sat on so many times. As a mere human and as a High Fea. Tamlin sat on the head of the table again and Lucien directly across her, Ianthe hadn't yet given us the pleasure of her company. The meal was as silent and intense as the first time she had sat here. When she had killed that fairy-wolf in winter woods and had set everything in motion.

Lucien and Tamlin watched every bite, every chew she made. It put her so much on edge that she put down her fork after five minutes and said; "Are you two going to do anything _else_ than staring at me like I'm an endangered species?"

Lucien shifted in his chair but it was Tamlin who said "We both aren't sure what to talk about, Feyre. Which topics we should avoid and – which to try." Tamlin eyes bore into her form.

She clocked her tongue. "You could start by explaining why you took my against my will." She knew that that would hurt them. She _had_ to put them on uneven ground.

Tamlin eyes filled with rage, she saw his claws glittering underneath his skin. All tenderness and compassion gone within a heartbeat. " _Feyre_." He said breathlessly. She folded her napkin onto her lap and leaned back in her chair watching him. Waiting.

"He was manipulating you don't you understand? He was making you his slave. You have felt his power back – back before Under The Mountain." He choked on those words. Flashes of it showed it to herself. Yes, Rhys had used his power against her. But – he hadn't done it to hurt her. She had seen the real Rhys, the man behind the mask. Whatever reason he had done that, it was a good one.

So she stared at him, at the High Lord who she had loved so deeply, that love now replaced by hate. "I had sent a letter to _you_ , High Lord" she felt smug at his cringe "and I had told you that I was fine, takin-"

"He had use-"

" _Do not,_ _interrupt me!"_ She launched herself up, with her hands onto the table. She could feel her power tugging at her. begging to be released. Asking her to burn this table, these men. This whole _Cauldron-dammed_ court.

Her breathing was hard as the same for Tamlin. Lucien looked like he was stuck between an bloody crossfire. I realized then, that he hadn't jumped at Tamlin's side. His loyalty toward him should have him defend him. To make him say that Rhys was indeed the monster that his mask told him so. She knows it was risky but she _had_ to know. She needed to know what was going inside of his head. She needed to know that his loyalties could shift.

She breathed out mentally.

She stroked Lucien's shields. Lovingly – delicately. _I am fire and falling leaves. I am temper and the rust gold forest. I am Lucien son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, the right hand man of High Lord of Spring. I am you. I am you. I am you._

Thoughts slammed into her. A pattern old, clever and quick. But also so guilt-ridden, hopeless and again so sad, so, so, sad. She saw again from his place before me. Half seeing from her own eyes.

 _How could she still possess such a fire? This - how can this be? Has Rhysand altered her mind? Making her believe that Tamlin, me and Alis are the ones to blame? But you saw her yesterday… she was_ happy. _Why would Rhys go through all that trouble and not just simply make her his slave? It would be ten times easier, but it would not piss off Tamlin that much…_

He was in doubt. If she could press the right buttons she would be able to maybe shift that unending loyalty to Tamlin. Just the smallest bit.

Then her High Fea ears snagged on the smallest breath outside of the doors. It wasn't the breathing of the two sentinels placed outside, which meant that…

Ianthe knowing that she had been hurt carefully opened the doors and sat – very wisely – next to Lucien.

Feyre slipped into something she had not yet experienced in her High Fea life, but she could remember it as clear as day from when she was still a mere human. She sunk again in the predatory stillness that the cold unforgiving woods had educated her in.

The stillness before the kill.

Ianthe however remained untouched. She didn't know how she hadn't already leaped over the table and splattered her across the wall. The memory played again in her mind, her grabbing Rhys manhood. The sheer arrogance and possession in that gesture had made her sick. Still does. But she was – _is_ – a wolf. The predator in this room. And a true predator never reveals it's scent before the killing blow.

So she smiled a toothless smile, her shoulders relaxed. she blinked at her. Then asked with a voice with nothing to hide but blunt curiosity. "Ianthe?"

Lucien and Tamlin glanced at each other. She had spoken to them with hate and resentment, they heard none now. Ianthe blinked at her, all the surprise she allowed herself to show. Dream-Rhys within her snarled at her, lashing out knowing it did nothing. But just wanting too. _I should have killed her when I had the chance._ He would be thinking that, without a doubt.

"Yes, my Lady, what is it?" she brought an eyebrow up, the perfect example of polite curiosity.

Feyre blinked again, frowning she cast a look at her belly. The fastest lie that popped inside of her head "You are in need to confirm a few little gossips I heard back at home." Tamlin flinched again, alongside Lucien who's was almost invisible. Ianthe stared at her hard, her face betrays nothing, but in her eyes. There was the predator that had hounded the men at the Night Court. It was gone within a heartbeat, but it had been long enough for her to understand. Ianthe is aware of that Feyre knows that she had been in the Night Court. That she had made a claim on Rhysand.

"Of course my Lady. What did you hear from the High Lord of the Night Court?"

She looked hard and intense at her. Forcing the silence in the room, then she leaned forward, leaning on her right elbow.

"Who said that Rhys had told me anything?" she smiled devilishly. Ianthe paled, ashamed and scared of her mistake. Tamlin eyed her.

Feyre stood up, from her lunch. Not bothering to notice the stiffening in her companionship. She dipped her napkin against the corners of her mouth. Like the doe-eyed damsel these people wanted her to be. She had barely touched her food before walking out, but not before making a vulgar gesture at Tamlin.

xXx

Feyre spent the next few days in a comatose state. Not like the one she had been before she had left this prison before – but, she… how do you put it? She was sinking within herself. Not into darkness and despair, loneliness and cold, but a peaceful resort.

She still did everything within her power to put these people on uneven ground. She woke at the crack of dawn, playing with the guards and Tamlin/Lucien now too. She started cooking her own food, so she could avoid any more lunches and dinners. Tamlin was now more at home than not. That being different then she remembered. But she couldn't bring herself to put those two knives she had stolen from Bron and Hart at use. Like she couldn't bring herself to enter her painting room.

Alright, fine! She was homesick.

She wanted to see the bright night sky. She wanted to wander in Verlaris, the hidden city. She wanted to joke around with Mor. Laugh with Cassian and put a smile on Az. But… she wanted see Rhys again. Not Dream-Rhys who was a mere fraction of that beautiful selfless man. That man, she realized with a start, she was falling in love for so hard, that it could not be _just_ love. There _had_ to be more. More than the bargain that was between them.

She had asked Dream-Rhys about it on her dozen's night.

 _"_ _But it isn't just… this, Rhys. I have known love, I have known lust. This." She taped on her own heart, then on Rhys "this has to be more."_

 _Rhysand stared at her for so long that he became a part of the meadow they lay again, watching the night. There were many things showing on his face. Love, awe, mischief, protection, openness. All showing at once._

 _"_ _because what we have Feyre darling, isn't just love." He stared at her now with fear in the mix. Like she was going to run away from any second. Disappear into stars. And do the crossing annually on the night she had first painted again. "It is because we are mates."_

There. Mates.

My mate was the most powerful High Lord in history. The High Lord of the Night Court.

She started bleeding out for him, for her mate.

She had promised herself to another male. A male that was his archenemy. For the fact, that, on the night she had danced with him al night. She _hadn't_ taken the last step, not because she was afraid of being with him. But because she was guilty from _not_ feeling awful. Not feeling awful from fleeing from the man, who had taken against her will, who had kept her in ignorance, who _is_ keeping her from her true and undeniable _mate._

Feyre caught herself staring out into the night. She had awaken immediately from the dream where Dream-Rhys had confirmed her superstition. She hadn't bothered with putting clothes on. She had stripped herself completely naked before the sentinels that are still guarding the door.

She stared at the moon. _Rhys?_

The bubble in her purred.

 _Contact your whole you._

The bubble not able to use words was confused. Asking silently for an explanation.

 _Because I am going to my mate, my home._

She smacked open the window. Throwing herself out. She had turned into fur, claws teeth and all fury before she had hit the ground.

And ran for her truest of homes.

 **Notes: sorry that it took so long for me to update my story. I am having here a major crisis with handling my country's version of finals and it crazy of here. But any way, tell my what you think and if you want to give me advice on my writing go ahead. I'm all ears.** **J**


	5. true home

**O. My. God. Here we are on the last chapter to this fanfiction. It hard for me to believe how many people have taken time to read my little gig. Just incredible. But here is the end of the river of feels. FEYSAND FOR LIFE!**

The sentinels of the grounds didn't know what had hit them. The only beast they know had golden fur and didn't sprint out of the estate like the Cauldron itself was on the hunt for her. They were just simply to stunned to do anything as a beast with brown fur surged past them, leaving them in the dust.

She sprinted into the woods who had been her escape, and then her most wanted freedom. All the animals and lesser fairies fled from her unstoppable form. She didn't saw the trees, it was like a instinct. Her body knew where they were and jumped to escape them. Adrenaline surged in her, setting her massive heart on fire. She knew, she _knew_ that this was her only shot of getting out of this Cauldronblasted court. After this they wouldn't let their surprise caught them unaware.

 _You are right Feyre, come to the border or at least close enough that my men can see you. I have got the locations of most of Tamlin's men, I will guide you._

Rhys.

Tears escaped her animal eyes. She felt a hole being filled, a hole she hadn't been truly aware off. But hearing him now after a dozen nights, she felt like she was complete again. Whole and healed. And free. She didn't care where, how, when or the what's, she was going to make it out of this court, she would force herself out even if they chained her above a cliff filled with ashwood. She was coming home, to wherever her mate was.

Rhys felt the impression of her thought pattern through her shields she held tall and firm, she could feel the shock and just pure unending love pouring from him.

 _Y-you know._

 _Of course I know, and I hope you realize just how lucky prick you are._

His laugh bounced inside of her head. Unrestrained, openly, and just _happy._ He has spent to many years the opposite.

 _I thank the Cauldron every day for the marvelous gift that you are._

She smiled, a smile filled with daggers for teeth, from a beast that is pound on pound of lethal muscle. But that was the truest most meaningful smile she had on her face. High Fae or human.

She was so consumed with the conversation with Rhys, that she hadn't heard the footsteps as silent as a stag's.

Another beast was upon her. This one was just a bit bigger than her animal form, and had gold fur instead of her brown. She didn't need to see in those green vibrant eyes to see to know who this beast form belonged too.

The High Lord of the Spring Court slammed into her, pushing her out of course. His claws retracted, his fangs out, but not in a sign of dominance of threat. They slammed into an ancient tree. Pulling out its roots. The wood splintering underneath the fury of two beasts. She involuntary howled at the moon at the wood pushing deep within her thick wolf hide. She registered concern and self-hate in two green eyes. Though she wasn't sure because she punched her claws out and slashed them across his face, barely missing the eyes.

They tumbled onto the ground. She wasn't ready to let Tamlin go just yet, she heard others sentinels turned into beasts surge for them but she estimated that she had time for one more strike. She bit into his thick unprotected neck, - a sign that he hadn't thought that she would go that far – and with all her might she threw him at the sounds of the upcoming cavalry. She didn't look behind her when she retracted her claws and start running once more. She hoped that the High Lord would hit them and cause great agony.

She and her unwanted companions raced into the night. She ran and ran and ran. Not breaking a sweat. This had something, she decided, the speed, the utter freedom of not being tied to anything. She imagined that Rhys felt this way when he flew into the night.

She heard the beating of many mighty wings above her. She couldn't risk putting her eyes anything elsewhere except for the path in front of her, but her heat leaped just the same. The Illyrians wings were clear as the moon above her.

 _Rhys, please! Send them away, I don't want a war to be started because of me!_

 _The only way to declare war is if they step a_ foot _in somebody's else's territory. Do you walking, Feyre darling?_

She smiled once more, _clever little prick that you are._ She felt a smile that was filled with mischief. It lasted about three heartbeats.

 _AMBUSH! RIGHT AHEAD OF YOU._

Her body cringed at the loudness of his message but it did its job. Her beast self, jumped landing on the trunk of a thick and ancient tree and launched itself towards the east. The fastest root to the sea. She heard a frustrated roar behind her. Tamlin no doubt.

Feyre didn't know how long she had been running. It became a blur in her memory with a flaming goal to work too. She escaped the Spring Courts attempts to capture her, by Rhys help and her own wits, she jumped across villages like they were puddles, and howled at the moon like it was a long lost friend. Then she reached the edge of the Spring Court, the border with the sea.

It was a sharp cliff, hard and unforgiving. The sea slammed against it, the waves wild and untamed. And Illyrian men were flying above the sea not in Spring Court territory, but as close as they can get. Should she jump? Would they be able to catch her? Her doubt made her slow and allowed the beasts that had pursued her relentlessly to catch up with her. Feyre felt a crushing weight on her strong and capable back, her body tripped and the momentum forced it to dig a river into the land, just stopping before the drop of the cliff.

Her head was pushed down on the fresh plowed earth, her paws useless underneath her. She was completely helpless. Her breathing became hard between her daggers for teeth. Her eye was able to see glimpses of gold fur and green eyes. And the healed but ruthless scars across it face. Triumph like never before surged in her body and her maw formed the shape of a smug grimace.

"I hope those scars remain for eternity on your face, you filthy _whoring_ prick." Her voice was nothing like she has ever heard. It was bringing back memories of the past. Of Tamlin breaking down the door of her old little cottage, screaming " _MURDERERS!"_ at her family. If she was to compare the two, her voice was the cold unfeeling twin to his red-hot fury. But just as lethal.

Even though she didn't see it, she heard a dozen smaller beasts form a protective half circle around them. Snarling and showing their teeth at the opposing threat.

Somebody clocked his tongue. "Isn't that a bit much don't you think?" cold, calculating. _Rhysand_. She jerked her head so fast Tamlin couldn't stop her.

Rhys was once more in his unruffled dark elegant clothes. His hair neat, not a single hair misplaced. His violet eyes burning just as clear as lanterns. He wasn't looking at her, but at Tamlin. A muscle in his jaw feathering. A game of pretending. Pretending that he was not a selfless, beautiful man. Who has sacrificed so much to protect what was his or his friends. And he needed to pretend now, in front of the Spring Court to keep up that façade, and she would play along just like in the Court of Nightmares.

She lowered her gaze, admiring the way the moonlight played on the fresh plowed earth but listen intently. Submissive, afraid, tamed.

A snarl that promised nothing less than unending pain and misery ripped from Tamlin's throat. I send one of my own looking him dead in the eye. He just ignored her, but she saw a glimpse of pain in his eye.

"Get. The. Hell. Out."

"Of what should I exactly leave? I am not in you territory _yet_ dear friend. I am on the exact border"

"Your men didn't think with the same _innocence_ tonight, _Rhysand._ "

"Indeed, they were in you territory, but they hadn't stepped a _foot_ in it, have they?" he turned to the Illyrians behind him. "Have you?"

A men answered, Feyre recognized him as Lord Devlon. The camp leader where Rhys had spent most of his childhood years. "No, my Lord, we have followed your orders."

Rhys turned slowly again to Tamlin who had become as still as stone. Calculating. Hoping for a slip on Rhys part.

"In fact," Rhys said with devilish smile on his. Cruel amusement, endless patient and with dark, very _dark_ essence. " _I_ have permission to wage war on _you,_ not the other way around."

There was a flash of light in the night, a beast that was out of her vision was being transformed back to its High Fae form. Then Lucien walked with barely controlled rage toward Rhys, stopping a healthy five meters away.

"We have done nothing, _nothing_ , to give you the excuse of war Rhys. I and my men who had taken Feyre back were putting their right to wander the courts to use."

"Ah, that.'' Rhys waved vaguely toward no one. "That, is just a drop. My only regret is that I let you leave my court with your minds and bodies still functioning. But currently, you are keeping a Night Court citizen captive." Rhys smile became broader, slicing his face in two. If she hadn't know that this man was her mate, that he would never hurt her in any way. She would be running for the next court – the next world. " _That,_ is a good as a permission that is ever going to exist."

Tamlin wasn't able to control himself, he surged forward. Launching for Rhys throat. An urge as deep as her bones made her jump too. To bite into Tamlin leg, hard enough for her to feel the crunch of bone. Tamlin's roar shook the ground, a second she used to push those claws out again and cut into his underbelly. He deflected, barely.

They stared each other down, Feyre slowly – very slowly, backed away from him. Toward her home, her mate. She stopped at his side, in her animal form was she just as big as a horse. Her head just beneath his shoulder.

"Behold, the first claimed Night Court citizen by me."

" ** _NO!_** " Tamlin had shifted back to his High Fae form. His blond hair messy, his eyes wild with fury and madness, only accentuated by the three fresh scars that went from his right temple to the left side of that once perfect mouth. His voice was more animal and wrath than anything else.

" **She has promised her hand to me! I still have claim over her!"** he took a breath between his teeth, clearly no words could describe his anger. " ** _SHE. IS. STIL. MINE!"_**

 _O, excuse me? Don't I have an opinion of mine own? Or are my ideas for my_ own _health ignorant and idiotic?_

Rhys showed none of his emotions, but I could feel with his gift that was given to me that he was boiling with rage, worse than Tamlin even. But he just slowly pulled out a paper out of his pocket inside of his jacket, smelling fresh of ink. He carefully opened it. Clearing his throat he read;

" 'Every international marriage alliance, between the Night and outer courts, needs to approved by the current High Lord of the Night Court. The High Lord shall consider this alliance with pro's and con's for _five_ months and then voice his judgment. To declare the alliance its potential worth or loss.

If the High Lord of the Night Court declares the marriage alliance a loss, then the Night Court citizen shall return to the Night Court, even by force necessarily.' "

 _Holy. Rotting. Hell._

"With that settled. I shall take Feyre darling now." He touched the base of her neck, winnowing her and himself out. She let loose of her beast form during the winnow, just giving herself the freedom to hug her mate fiercely. To crawl inside of his warmth. To breath his scent.

The smell of the sea and the sounds of a busy city were surrounding her. _Velaris_. The city of starlight.

A gentle hand pushed her chin up, and the drank the sight in. Violet eyes, tanned skin, strong cheekbones. The silver in his eyes. "Welcome home." Said his hoarse voice.

She put her face on his chest again. "Wherever you are Rhys, is my truest home."

 **Notes: o dear, did I really write that? I hope you enjoyed this torture of feels. I hope this softened your massive bookhangover and now let's wait together for 2017 people!**


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